Twenty-Six Vignettes
by Ehwaz-Ansuz-Kano
Summary: Twenty-six vignettes or flash fiction about the Borgias, includes lesser known characters like Charlotte. 500 words or less per chapter. Enjoy. Each chapter is done to a letter of the alphabet. Chapter 18: R is up.
1. Chapter 1: A is for Appetite

There were many words one could use to describe Pope Alexander the Sixth. Better known as Rodrigo Borgia, the man held the most epithets in Rome and some of the most foul heard before or after his passing. Charges of simony, nepotism, murder, and corruption followed the pontiff throughout his tenure. One phrase though best described the man as Vannozza dei Cattanei knew him; a man of many appetites. She recalled the first instance she'd noticed this trait, which was both vice and virtue, in him. Long before he'd become the Vicar of Christ he was a simple man of Valencia.

"Pope Calixtus has granted me the title of Cardinal of Valencia," Rodrigo stated with some enthusiasm, "God is truly kind to bestow this honor upon such a humble servant. I vow to uphold the Lord's word and help spread the Christian faith to the best of my abilities."

With the rich robes, the people's flimsy respect, and the new benefice's income came the sexual appetite which had previously remained checked. Calixtus sent reprimands which went unheeded and excess reigned. Only when he met her, he often proclaimed, did he bother to lessen his discretions. Vannozza, a worldly woman, was well aware that his so-called discretions extended outside the bedchamber.

He saw the prize that being Pope brought when Calixtus reached St. Peter's chair and, knowing his own nature for opulence, a new appetite was given life. This appetite, less the desire to spread faith and more a desire to do as he pleased without repercussions, was fueled by the power-struggles which played out before him. Power was the key to obtaining access to all the vices and the Papacy was the means to achieving that.

Vannozza, knowing well the father of her children, was hardly fazed when word reached her that Pope Innocent was dead. Rodrigo, seeing the opportunity which presented itself, leapt with the speed necessary to wrestle the Papacy from the French and Milanese Cardinals. Vannozza, however, was taken aback by one deed required to fulfill his hunger for power.

"Miss Cattanei," the Cardinal looked uncomfortable in his crimson garb, his hat awkwardly held in his hands.

"Yes?" She leaned back against the seat, eying the young man with some weariness. Rodrigo seldom visited her these days, his passion having cooled into nonexistence (she had once taken this news poorly and still felt the string of losing him) but he had at least remained on good terms with her. "What brings you here, Your Excellency? Could His Holiness not be bothered?"

"His office keeps him busy," he answered, diverting his gaze. "He has sent me to…"

"Speak up," she reached for her goblet only to pause midway, her uncertainty leaking briefly into her eyes and face. "What news?"

"His Holiness requests that the children be sent to a tutor." Vannozza, aware that Rodrigo would do much for power, was not prepared to lose her children in the process.


	2. Chapter 2: B is for Blindness

Rodrigo prided himself in seeing through his enemies' plans, their manners, and of always being one step ahead. He had not anticipated that his greatest enemy would be his blind affection for Juan. As he lay bemoaning the loss of his favorite child he contemplated the reasons for his demise. Juan's arrogance, vanity, and willfulness had been his undoing; but worse had been Rodrigo's inability to curb those traits when the boy had been young. He'd failed his son and all because he'd loved him to the point of folly.

Cesare's ill qualities he'd sought to temper with Lucrezia and the cardinalate and Lucrezia's flaws were remedied with marriage and affection. Such was his crime, he thought, to let Juan go about freely. As he stared at the wall and heard the ringing of the bells signifying Juan's passing he wondered if he'd failed not only Juan but Cesare.

Perhaps he had gone about checking Cesare's envy in the wrong way. If he'd given Cesare the military position which he'd craved none of this would have happened, he'd even confess that Cesare's talents made him more suited to the occupancy. He hadn't taken into consideration which of them was the better solider; no, he'd merely garbed Juan in armor and Cesare in the red of a cardinal due to their ages. If only he'd put their personalities into the equation!

Even adding their personalities to the mix, he thought forlornly, would have made little difference. Juan would have found some folly to lead to his death. No matter how he changed the circumstances he knew the blame always came back to his lack of parenting. If he'd kept Juan in Spain a little longer, not forced him to marry, or made him study for a cardinal's hat might things have been different? His flaws still glared Rodrigo in the face, taunting him as he lay wondering how he might have changed Juan into a better man.

Did Peter wonder after Jesus' crucifixion if he might have saved him by speaking up? Did Adam wish he'd stayed Cain's hand when he struck down Abel? Rodrigo closed his eyes and as he started to drift into a restless sleep he wondered one last thing, which scared his soul far worse than any before, would God forgive him for his blindness? Would Juan when they met in death?


	3. Chapter 3: C is for Change

Vannozza paused at the threshold of the garden. Sunlight poured into the bright landscape, setting Lucrezia's golden hair aflame and gleaming in Cesare's eyes. Cesare, dressed in black, and raven haired contracted against Lucrezia's blue eyes and pastel dress. They lay close, nudging and lightly touching occasionally, legs pressed together. Lucrezia, eyes closed, looked sleep, her mind no doubt going over the idea of marriage her father had presented to her days earlier. Cesare was staring into the sky, his mind roaming subjects Vannozza knew nothing about these days. Strange that the minds of her dear children, who she'd known like the back of her hand, were suddenly unfathomable.

Change had swept the year of 1492 and she could still feel the touch of change months into 1493. Cesare was taller, stronger, and surer of himself since his return; Lucrezia was budding into a beauty and her catlike smiles threatened a maturity Vannozza feared was coming on too fast. She turned from the sight of them, walking back into the house which rarely changed. The world was constantly shifting, she frowned as she glanced around her home, and the Borgias, an integral part of that change, would be engulfed by the intrigues, murder, and power struggles. The only solace she could gleam from this was the fact her children would still have one constant in their lives and that was her home.


	4. Chapter 4: D is for Delinquent

Juan had done many things in his life, Cesare knew, but being so delinquent was out of character. It was one thing to be haughty towards enemies, to be arrogant, cowardly, and spineless, but this disrespectfulness was appalling even to Cesare. Some disrespect when applied to enemies was understandable, but to be so recklessly rude towards the allies they'd made in Spain through his marriage was undermining the match itself. Why marry Maria and gain her families' affluence only to lose that support by being an ass?

His delinquent killing of cats and dogs, his expensive gambling and neglecting of Maria and her family was enough. He watched the ink dry as he finished his name, wondering as he applied his sigil if Juan would even bother reading the contents when he found out it was from him. Cesare pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and rubbed, trying to message away the headache that was forming. Even if Juan didn't read the letter at least his father would stop pestering him to send one.


	5. Chapter 5: E is for Easter

Easter was celebrated with ceremony in the Church, but Jofre, sitting beneath a tree in the Vatican grounds, found little joy in celebrating Jesus' resurrection. Easter found him as it did every year wishing time would reverse itself. Every witty remark he might have made, which he only thought up after, passed through his brain, every actions he might have taken to benefit himself, every glance from a pretty lady he might have diverted from his brothers to himself…Easter was a time of mourning to Jofre for a reason not religious.

Every year he felt his inaccuracy more, he thought, pondering how he might make next year better. Sancia was a new misstep he could add to his long list, his handling of his lands only an inch away from rebellion, his bed cold. He could barely count how many failures had accumulated throughout his lifetime. While he failed his siblings' success rose; Cesare was Captain of the Papal armies and Lucrezia a revered Duchess renown for her cultured ways. Jofre was a footnote, even to his family and especially Alexander. He was more forgotten than Juan and that was saying something. Juan got brought up in daily conversation more often than him, he ran a hand though his hair, why did he keep trying when he never won?

He glanced to his left as a lady and her lord passed. He watched morosely and ducked his head when they looked over. Why he bothered when they wouldn't even recognize him was beyond his understanding. He thought of his father as he routinely did around this time; why had Rodrigo continued when faced with the Catalan adversity he'd endured as a cardinal? Why fight tooth and nail against men who reviled him? And for what? Was the Papacy worth the hassle?

"You look down," Michelotto's face was stone. "What for? It is the Savior's greatest day, no?"

"His day of triumphant is my day of despair."

"Why?"

"I've done nothing worth envying."

"I've never understood why men envy others," Michelotto said with a shrug, "what use is there in that?"

"I've done nothing any would praise."

"You don't do things so other men will praise them," the assassin stated, "you act only if you alone find them worthy of doing."

"Michelotto…"

The assassin didn't bother to continue the conversation when he spotted Cesare approaching. Did Michelotto murder, not for Cesare's sake, but his own? He pondered this as he rectified to help his family through his own means. He wasn't a solider like Cesare, a diplomat like Lucrezia, or good at dissembling like Alexander, but he would work tirelessly to find some means to help his family.


	6. Chapter 6: F is for Fighting

The first time Michelotto had considered killing had been during a brawl with a drunkard. The man had been accursing him of liking sodomy and Michelotto, drunk and rebellious at that age, hadn't taken well to the danger such an accusation posed. So he'd busted the man's nose in and when the fool had started to rise to resume the fighting Michelotto hadn't hesitated to grab the nearest object, a wobbly legged chair, and hit him over the back with it. The splintering of the chair breaking sounded loud in the hushed room. Michelotto remembered the sound of his own heartbeat as he watched the man slowly move his arms to get up again. Frustrated he'd torn the wobbly leg off the chair and couching down to the man used the pointy end to stab his hand. After, no one in the bar had accused him of anything.

This first act of violence had led to more. The feeling of domination over another mixed with his own self-importance and the rebellious desire of youth had led him to become a bodyguard. Fighting came naturally to him and his first charge, a beardless boy of fourteen who would succeed his father to become a magistrate, would practice his swordsmanship in front of him. From watching he learned and his skills with a blade improved slowly overtime. When the boy's tutor took a liking to him Michelotto used him to further his skill. Martial arts mixed with sword fighting after rough sex became a habit Michelotto didn't mind.

When his employer found out about his liaison however he was quickly ousted. His employer, not wanting to draw suspicion upon himself for hiring one such as him, didn't divulge that information to the public, but his reputation was as good as dead.

Finding little employment and little food in his belly he'd went a more dangerous route. He was good at fighting and killing didn't seem hard. When he was given his first assignment his hands didn't even shake as he drew his stiletto and the more experienced him marveled at the indifference he'd shown even then. The blood had smelled awful and the feel of it upon his hands had annoyed him to no end, but he grew accustomed to it.

In the end killing was as easy as fighting, the only thing that bothered him was his lack of direction. If he was to murder he wanted a reason besides money. When the Pope's son offered him employment he readily agreed. Here was the sense of doing God's work and here was a righteous cause he would put his skills to use for. Having a handsome employer was merely added incentive and the rest of the Borgias weren't terrible either.


	7. Chapter 7: G is for Garments

Juan's love of bright garments, especially the Turkish robes Djem regularly wore, were often a source of amusement to the Romans. Juan, however, couldn't understand those who preferred the more astute clothing. Papal clothing often bored him and men in Rome seldom wore outlandish garments. Juan loved standing out and he loved showing off and mix in some drink and he'd wear nearly anything. When Juan arived in Spain dresed in satin, vevleteen, silk, and jewels he expected to be the talk of Spanish society. He wasn't aware the Spanish lacked a sense of fashion. The court's reaction to his ostentatious arrival and the fact he was waiting on more luggage ruined his reputation.

The Spanish, he found with initial amusement, wrere surprisingly good Catholics. This amusement of them being better Catholics than most Romans faded when he saw how dull they were. Juan's love of sex, gambling, and drinking the Spanish, poor bastards, frowned on. Juan, vexed by Maria's constant desire to be imitate in bed and on a personal level (he could have withstood one request but not the other) felt a growing discontent. Being obedient was Cesare's field and Juan, feeling Maria's family watching his every move and the Spanish ire at his frivolous lifestyle, found solace in his vices.

His actions lead to rumors which reached Rome and Rodrigo urged him in letters to be more civilized and that what was tolerated occasionally in Rome was different in other countries. Feeling like a failure to his father and wondering what he'd done to deserve this horrendous exile, Juan, trying to regain some sense of purpose and missing all he'd left behind, clung to his juvenile antics as a way to reclaim his self-confidence. Cesare wrote a repreminanding letter which Juan burned, fearing as the patchment curled and the smoke rose that he'd never see Rome again unless he acted out. Rodrigo would send for him if he continued and so he prayed as he lay in the brothel, evading the accursing smiles of daylight, ingoring Maria's yearning gaze, and refusing to acknowlodge the baby growing in his wife's womb. He even fooled himself into believing that the few times he'd bedded her meant nothing, that the child was another man's, and once he left Spain he'd never have to worry about the infant.

This desire to return home was what got him through and when Rodrigo reluctantly called him back he nearly burst into tears. When he stepped into the Vatican for the first time in what felt like forever he was sure his luck had changed and Rodrigo's anouncement of his promotion to Captain General gave him a renewed sense of direction. If he succeeded in beating the Orsini, he told himself, maybe Spain and the incompetent fool he'd felt like while there, would erase from his memory.


	8. Chapter 8: H is for Home

Cesare looked into Lucrezia's eyes and wondered if he would ever feel a sense of belonging elsewhere. He'd never felt at home in Vannozza's house or the Vatican, there had always lingered an uneasy feeling in him, an uncertainity about his future and everyone he cared about that he couldn't dispell. With Lucrezia there was none of that. The grass was sticking to his clothing but he didn't bother to fix his appearance because with her that wasn't necessary.

"Cesare?"

"Yes, sweet sister?"

"When do you think Mother will be home?"

"Soon I imagine." She was so young yet, her eyes not marred by the blackness he saw in other people's eyes or the evil in his own. He wondered why God could stand by as this angel fell from grace. He ignored the unpleasant thought and tried instead to cherish the moment.

"Do you think she'll want me to finish my Latin lesson?"

"Undoubtedly," he played with a strand of her bright hair, marveling at how the sunlight struck it.

'She won't be kind enough to let us enjoy the last of the light?'

"Your lessons are important, sis," he answered, hating her dejected expression. He let go of her hair and propped himself onto his elbow. "Never fear though. We have a lifetime to spend together."

"Really?" Her innocent eyes still believed everything he said. He seldom told the truth but he would have loved for this to be so.

"Why not? What could possibly tear this family apart?"

"Nothing," she said enthusiastically as she took his hand. Nothing would spoil her good soul, he vowed, nothing would come between their family, and nothing could take away the feeling of home so freely offered in her gaze. Cesare had never felt so at peace as he did that afternoon with her warm hand in his, her eyes and smile for him alone. Years later when her smiles strayed, when she felt his sight, and the world tried its hardest to bring him to his knees he remembered all those promises he'd tried to maintain and he'd gleam one positive thing from that day. He'd felt at home with Lucrezia in their Mother's garden and few with lives as tumultuous as his could claim the same.


	9. Chapter 9: I is for Irises

Charlotte lay quiety on the bed in the dimy lit chamber. One hand was motionless on her husband's chest, the other tucked under her chin. She stared silently into his beautiful irises for several moments, going over the intended conversation in her head. She gave up on that when all of them ended in defeat and decided that pondering the matter was worse than actually addressing it.

"Cesare?" His name was so different from the Louis and Charles she was use to and surprisingly enough the name had grown on her just as the man later did. She still recalled nights in bed where she let his name roll off her tongue and she worried over the man who she was to marry.

"Yes, Lottie?" Even his Italian accent as he said her nickname had taken some getting use to.

"When will you leave?"

"Soon," he disliked talking about his upcoming departure, though she wasn't sure if it was because he was distressed over leaving her or worrried over the battles and responsibilities to come.

"Take me with you," she implored. His face, an impassive spectacle to those in court, softened at the emotion in her voice.

"You know I can't."

"I can convince the Queen. Please?"

"Lottie," she dreaded the exhausted way he said her name just now, knowing the barely concealed annoyance, though lightly mingled with empathy, usually meant the end of discussion.

"You are my husband," she sat up, her hair falling onto her shoulders. He toyed with a strand, looking suddenly lost in thought. Trying to dispel the growing poignancy in his eyes she took his hand into hers. "You are my priority now and being with child...well..would it not be sensible to be near you during my pregnancy?"

"I will not bring you to a battlefield, especially in your state."

"But the camp is perfectly safe."

"Hardly. We can argue this point into infinity, love, but I will not back down on this. Battle is no place for you, you're a sensitive soul and I won't put you through the horror of war."

"I am no fierce tigress like Caterina, but that does not mean I wouldn't bear hardship to be with you."

"I know how great your affection for me is and I'm glad of it, but this is folly. I'll send for you when I return to Rome and the Romagna is under Borgia rule."

"When will that be?"

"God willing shortly."

"Soon," she laughed, "you always say soon. I doubt it will happen in our lifetime."

"Don't be so pessimistic. You sound like one of my detractors."

"I'll try." As she laid back down and he embraced her she feared his promises were made of air. Staring into his brown irises she hoped she'd be able to do so again. She prayed their child inherited his irises so even if she never gazed upon him again in life she might have some small remembrance of the man who'd so effortlessly captured her heart.


	10. Chapter 10: J is for Jeopardize

Giulio Della Rovere reclined in his seat, watching the French King with trepidation. Charles, his health having deteriorated since Naples, looked worse than usual. It didn't help that all of his plans were falling apart before his very eyes. His chance of taking the Papacy was now in jeopardy when once he'd been the one jeopardizing the current pontifff's occupancy.

"Well," Charles gulped his wine, "this is a fiasco for the ages, eh, Cardinal?"

"It shouldn't have been."

Charles appeared unfazed at his accusing tone. "What do you think history wil say of this ugly face? One thing to be ugly and successful and quite another to be a failure, no?"

"They will say your expedition was just, merely that the Devil held more sway in Rome these days."

"Borgias you mean," Charles flung his goblet onto the floor in frustration. "If I ever get a chance I'll wring that bastard's neck!"

"That would be..."

"Don't preach at me," Charles stood, face pinched with pain. "The Pope is the worst of men, his stink of evil reaches even here."

"I could not agree more."

"That being said," he leaned across the table and grabbed the collar of Della Rovere's robe. "Since I doubt I'll be able to wring his neck I implore you to see him to his grave. Free the world of the Borgia filth, you'll gain more followers than the Christian faith and God would want it so. Would God not command us to cast Satan from our mists?"

"That is entirely-."

"Possible," Charles declared, dropping the shaken Cardinal back into his seat. "See to it for me or else risk jeopardizing more than your own aims. He wouldn't hesitate if the situation was reversed."

He didn't move until the king was gone, straightening his crumpled robes and staring into space. Could he really risk jeopardizing all he held dear to stop the Bogias? Wasn't everything already jeopardized by the Borgias being alive? He crossed himself at the notion and rose. What lay in his future now? Was there truly no alternative but assassination? Could he lower himself, even in the Lord's name, to murdering the very symbol of the Christian world? Wouldn't he be no better than the evil which now plagued Rome? Was he even any better since he'd sided with the French?

He turned to the Bible that night and found some justification there. Surely God would forgive him if it meant saving others from the curse of the Borgia? If he happened to gain much due to his adversary's passing, was that really a crime?


	11. Chapter 11: K is for Killing

Niccolò Machiavelli smiled at Cesare Borgia. The man was talking in hushed tones to Michelotto. This Borgia, Machiavelli conceded, was a true prince of the Renaissance. Cruel, ruthless, charming, and immoral he was the ideal which Machiavelli had spent years trying to find amongst the Medici, the Sforza, etc. These traits alone weren't uncommon amongst those illustrious houses, but Cesare had more than petty scrabbling like the Colona and Orsini on his mind and more than merely enlarging of wealth like the Medici or land grabbing like the Sforza. He had a vision not seen since Caesar's time. Fitting that he would share a similar name as the unifier of the Roman Empire.

If Cesare and Michelotto had to kill a few pitiless souls to acquire a far greater treasure so be it. What was the life of scum like Sforza or Manfredi really worth given the freedom of the people of the Romagna from oppression? Those tyrants of the Romagna wouldn't be remembered for more than a handful of odious crimes, but Cesare would be remembered for liberating a war-torn Italia. What greater prize was there and why were the lords that were killed too stupid to comprehend the value of this aim? Fools all of them and the world was no doubt a better place for it.

Killing, considered immoral by God, was agreeable to a man such as Machiavelli in certain circumstances. When women were raped, children were starving, and men lacked basic freedoms due to cruel lords wasn't it a blessing when that evil oppressor found justice, even if that justice was man's dagger in his back rather than God's supposedly watchful eye? What better justice was there than that man stand up and proclaim that they'd had enough of atrocities? Would any label a man a monster if he killed his wife's rapist?

Cesare was labeled thus and much worse for crimes which would have been forgiven other men. Killing, was a noble enterprise, and Cesare wielded both the sword and garland to great advantage. Machiavelli was eager to see what more achievements this Lord of the Romagna would accomplish.


	12. Chapter 12: L is for Laughter

I forgot to add L so here it is, sorry for the inconvenience.

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Lucrezia hadn't laughed so hard in weeks. Her chest and sides were even starting to hurt. Cesare took her hand when he noticed the watchful eyes of onlookers and lead her from the banquet quickly.

"Lucrezia, you have scared the quests," he said with a smile and laughter in his eyes.

"I bet they think we are laughing at something seedy," she said, clutching his hand tightly. She'd missed him dearly and was grateful each time she awoke in the morning to find him still in the Vatican. Cesare was her single source of laughter since Pedro's death.

"It wouldn't surprise me."

"I don't think I've enjoyed myself quite so much since you left. You must stay forever."

"Impossible, sis, but that is one fantasy I wish that would come true."

"You have many fantasies, brother?"

He chuckled, picking her up as if she weighted nothing and twirling her about the hallway. She laughed, burying her face into his neck. What she wouldn't give to laugh like this every day or to feel this comfortable and safe in her lover's arms. It was strange that Cesare was the only one who made her this happy and yet it felt right.

"Cesare?"

"Lucrezia?" He echoed, looking amused. She bit back a giggle and pressed her palm lovingly to his face.

"Promise to make me laugh every day."

"I, Cesare Borgia, do hereby promise to make Lucrezia Borgia laugh at every available opportunity." She kissed his cheek and moved out of the circle of his arms. "Now what promise will you make in return?"

"Since when do I have to make a promise too?"

"It's only fair," he wrapped his arms about her waist, dropping his head onto her shoulder.

"I promise," she paused to think of a witty reply and finding one gave him a wicked smile, "I promise not to beg you to cut your hair ever again!"

"Oh that is quite the promise," he chuckled. "What else?"

"Why must I promise more?"

"My promise is worth more."

"I also promise not to complain about you wearing only dull black."

"Is that all?"

"Fiend!" He laughed and his infectious laughter sent her into another fit of giggles. If only every promise he made came true.


	13. Chapter 13: M is for Married

Lucrezia had suffered much when married to Giovanni Sforza and she had hoped, although futilely given her father's ambitions, never to marry again. Alfonso, however, was making her think differently about marriage. She leaned her head close to his, her loose hair brushing his earlobe as she said softly, "Are you enjoying tonight, dear husband?"

He smiled, the first genuine one since the feast had begun, and said, "Only because you are here."

"It is terrible you don't approve of my family," she touched his arm gently, "yet I am flattered."

He met her eyes with that same intensity she'd thought to only see in Cesare's eyes. She felt a bit of remorse, once she would have vehemently denied that anyone could rival Cesare in her affections, and yet Alfonso made her feel so young again, almost as if her first marriage had never happened.

Cesare approached, leaning quickly over to kiss her head and mumble, "you look satisfied, sister."

"I could not be happier," she responded, quickly squeezing his hand on her shoulder. The look in his eyes told her how unhappy he was and she turned away from it. All that he did for the family took a great toll and every day he became more frayed. She feared for him but she could not offer anything more than an appreciative glance or a sympathetic smile. To offer anything else…

She knew the main reason for Cesare's unhappiness and closely guarded it deep within. She couldn't acknowledge it and didn't want to. Things had turned around since Giovanni; Rodrigo's Papacy was fairly secure, her children were raised in a loving home, and Cesare had the position he had sought. So why did she hate herself when Cesare looked at her with that half accursing, desperate expression, that look that said she had clearly torn his heart out in the most ruthless fashion?

"Cesare, would you want to―," before she could finish inviting him over later he was walking away. She felt even worse when she spotted his lonely last glance at her as he went out the door.

"Why must he ruin tonight," Alfonso's scorn clear in his tone.

"He doesn't mean anything by it," she stated with more surety than she felt. Cesare disliked Alfonso, for reasons she knew too well, and Alfonso, feeling slighted every time Cesare ignored him or made it obvious the marriage was dissatisfactory to him, resented Cesare.

"I'm sure he doesn't," his annoyance remained as he went back to eating.

"Don't worry about it," she said simply, hoping he'd drop the issue.

"I'm glad we are married, Lucrezia, and not just for the political reasons that so pleased Cesare and the Pope."

She took his hand, "I know." She was grateful he didn't bring Cesare up the rest of the night.


	14. Chapter 14: N is for Nose

The child had Alfonso's nose. Cesare approached slowly, waiting for Lucrezia to scold him for sneaking up on her and a sleeping infant. When she did not he crushed her into his arms, fearful of the silence when usually giggling followed.

"Do you think Giovanni has his father's nose?" They seldom talked about Giovanni Borgia; he was a stain on their linage as far as their father was concerned if he was concerned at all and to him the child was a reminder of less grand times. Only Jofre and Lucrezia bothered bringing him up, the first because he feared the child would be as forgotten as him in time and Lucrezia because…memories that occasionally stirred? He could not say with surety but he hated hearing that name.

"Who can say?"

"His mother should be able to." Cesare let go of her to stare down into little Rodrigo's eyes. He could not look at her. Those years before had been dark for him and he hated dwelling on them, the idea that she could so easily look back annoyed him, especially given all that happened during and immediately after her first marriage.

"He has a mother who I am sure would be able to answer that," he offered stiffly.

"A new mother and perchance a better one?"

"Not better," he reached for her hand but she would not be soothed.

"Ever since Rodrigo was born," she said softly, her back to him, "I… I think of him much more than before."

"You should keep preoccupied," he responded, knowing the lame platitude wasn't what she was seeking but unable to offer more. "To dwell in such dark times…surely going to Alfonso…"

"I don't want Alfonso. He knows so little and what he does know of the past he refuses to speak to me of. I hope Giovanni has his nose like how Rodrigo has Alfonso's."

"I'm sure he does."

"Will he hate me?"

"Why would he?"

"I've neglected him…let him be taken. I didn't put up a fight like a real mother would have."

"You were young, sister, too young to have a child."

"Don't," her voice cracked, "you and father just wanted another marriage. That's all, that's all that ever mattered."

He glanced at Rodrigo when her tearful eyes tried to search his for denial. Rodrigo's blue eyes stared up at him. His nose, the straight nose of the Aragon, was obvious. To others it wasn't important. To Cesare it marked him as an enemy. How could he tell Lucrezia the Aragon were now enemies and her husband was a liability? His father had told him to inform her so she would be ready for what was to come. He held her, closing his eyes, and resolving not to tell her until later. How could he when she'd blame him for it and, when all he wanted was for her to love him, she'd offer disappointed eyes, eyes which said she feared he craved power more than her?


	15. Chapter 15: O is for Opal

Forgot to add L, now updated. Please go back and enjoy chapter 11 too if you want or continue reading. R&R and enjoy.

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"When do you want it done?"

"Tonight."

"That will be hard."

"I can find someone else for the task," he observed the pinched face of the assassin for signs of caving.

"I'll do it tonight, but I want my pay first."

"You'll flee the city sooner than kill him." Alfonso, foolish as he had been with his first assassin, wasn't about to make the same mistake by being too trusting. It was his very trusting nature which had gotten him into his current position. He had learned men of this profession would sooner cut your own throat than go kill your intended.

"I want something if I'm going to risk my life. I don't trust you to pay up."

"I'll give you half so we both can be guaranteed. Here," he produced the opal ring, a bright blue with green flecks and other colors. He pulled his hand quickly away when the man before him reached for it. This was a deadly game and though inexperienced Alfonso wanted to beat the Borgia bastard. He'd heard about assassination attempts in Naples, but he'd never expected to be the target of an assassin's blade himself. This game, one Cesare Borgia played so well, would be his last if Alfonso had his say. He wasn't prepared to die and he didn't want to leave behind the one thing in Rome which had made his life bearable. Lucrezia didn't deserve to be caught between her brother and her husband.

"All of Rome will be singing with joy when word spreads that Borgia is dead."

"Make it so," Alfonso, satisfied he might live another day and see the end to his enemy at the same time, walked back to the Vatican in high spirits.

The assassin pulled his hood back as he returned to the shadows, the ring clutched tightly in hand. Hands grabbed him as he reached the corner and pushed him roughly against the wall, strong arms circled his neck to cut off his air supply. He gasped briefly, hand clawing at the arm of the man trying to end his life. He struggled feebly, kicking and biting, but the grip was ironclad. As his vision darkened he saw a black dressed man standing three steps away, the chiseled face of Cesare Borgia staring vacantly at him with arms crossed. He heard the clink of the opal ring hitting the ground before full darkness consumed him, cursing his luck as he fell to the ground.


	16. Chapter 16: P is for Puttana

Read a summary for the new episodes of Season 3 and it mentioned how Gonzaga's wife Bianca (historically inaccurate but it explains why Gonzaga conspires against them I suppose) kills herself due to her husband's manipulation over her infidelity with the Pope.

* * *

Caterina Sforza stared across the table at the Orsini. This little get together, her idea naturally, involved the Orsini and other lords of the Romagna. Even Francesco Gonzaga, though a bit begrudgingly, sat wordlessly to her left.

"Dearest comrades−."

"Since when are we comrades?" Vitelli asked this with a raised brow, glancing at the seething Orsini and Colona.

"Since the Borgias rose to power," Caterina drawled, watching the faces of Gian Baglioni, Francesco Orsini, and Colona for disgust and sure enough hate and some envy clouded each face. Only Gonzaga remained unfazed, staring at her with a hint of interest. He knew well how to play the game, having sided with the allies the Pope had made to turn the French out of Italy when Charles had invaded and he knew, though untrustworthy the Borgia were, they could be useful. She had to make him see what a mistake trusting them for even one minute was and she had just the pawn to do so.

"Why have you sent for us? We've received letters from you, Countess of Forli, claiming we should ally with you against them, and maybe we should, but give me a valid reason to consider it?" Gian Paolo demanded, staring at her with an unimpressed expression. She had heard rumors he intended to join Cesare's newly made army as a condottiere.

"We have the means to best them," she smiled, drawing her napkin over her lips. "We have more troops together than they do in the whole Papal Army."

"True enough," Vitelli conceded. The conversation that followed was spent discussing when to make the move, how long raising troops would take, supplies, etc. As the men started to trickle out of the room after swearing alliance she pulled Gonzaga aside.

"How have you been?"

"Well."

"Your wife?"

"Bianca thrives."

"Does she?"

"What do you play at, Countess?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your coyness is unnecessary. Say now what your gaze does."

"Your dear wife," she smiled when his eyes threatened violence if she did for Gonzaga was a well-known gallant and would defend his wife and her honor, "is a puttana, a prostituta−."

"I've never thought to strike a woman," he sneered, "I, unlike the Borgias, have more honor, however you test my patience."

"You mention the Borgias... Do you already known who Bianca lays down with?"

He glared and she smirked, satisfied that she'd finally gotten under his cold exterior. "Who told you this...filthiness?"

"I have my network and they say the Pope hears more than just your wife's confessions."

He gripped his dagger, "They will pay for this deception."

"Oh they will if you decide correctly."

"You've used me," he smiled grimly, "but my revenge will be done by my hand."

"You are more the fool than I mistook you for," she let her smile drop as he marched off and her plan, though having turned him against the Borgias, hadn't brought him over to her side in the process. What a shame...


	17. Chapter 17: Q is for Quiet

This one is a bit longer than the others at about 850 words. I felt cutting anything out would diminish what I'm going for so I haven't. R&R and enjoy.

* * *

Michelotto frowned at the son of Caterina Sforza. He was frail looking, too young to be experienced in the ways of this ruthless world. Michelotto pitied him not, to be inexperienced was often soon to be dead and he admired men like Cesare, men who saw the evil of this world and conquered it. Men like this child often amounted to nothing. He glanced over at Cesare as he entered the dimly lit dungeon.

When Cesare, whose verdict upon most matters was rigid punishment, offered the boy mercy Michelotto could only be astonished. He spent the rest of the evening trying to persuade Cesare against the idea, but he was determined and the Borgia were stupidly stubborn at times. As they sat down for wine upon their return to the Vatican after liberating Benito he broached the subject of Caterina's son.

Cesare, cup in hand, smiled. "I offer mercy when it suits me, Michelotto. I'm guiding the boy." Guiding meant manipulating when it involved the Pope's son. "Did I not offer guidance to another once?"

Quiet descended as Cesare swept from the room, reminding Michelotto of the night Cesare had realized what kind of man his assassin really was. Few would have expected that the shadow which helped Cesare's evil ambitions was a religious man at heart.

_Michelotto slid the confessional door open and sat, trying to decide where to place his hands as he waited for the priest to seat himself. He prayed regularly but he was secretive too and didn't trust most priests, especially not with the inner workings of his mind. Today though the assassin sought something he hadn't since the day his father had turned his back on him and he'd murdered him; he went to the confessional not to seek forgive, but guidance._

_"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."_

_"Tell me of your sins," that voice was instantly recognizable. Michelotto peered through the lattice and frowned when he saw his master's face. Did Cesare, sly bastard that he was, know who was confessing to him?_

_"I have many. Murder among them." He waited, but the cardinal was silent. Michelotto, still indecisive as to whether Cesare recognized him, said, "I'm in need of guidance."_

_"What guidance may a humble servant of the Church offer that mediating on God's wouldn't?"_

_"I don't know God's plan." There was a nick on his knuckle which if he remembered correctly was from a brawl at a gambling place when he'd still been a bodyguard._

_"No men do, though men pretend to."_

_"The Pope does."_

_"So he says."_

_"Blasphemy, Cardinal."_

_"To the Pope perhaps. What do you want me to advise you on?"_

_"I'm employed currently, but I am uncertain if I want to continue on."_

_"Why?"_

_"I thought I'd be serving God. Now I feel only as if I'm serving a family that furthers their own aims over His."_

_"Did you never think them the same? God dictates all that happens on Earth, whether we want to believe that or not."_

_"God gives us freewill."_

_"Does he really? How can something happen without God's consent?"_

_"He can disagree with an action and still let it happen as he did with Satan."_

_"Yet if he is all-knowing doesn't he let Satan and other evils prevail? If he doesn't let them happen he isn't omnipotent." Michelotto was quiet, pondering how such logic, which God himself must have created, could denounce His very existence. Was that, just like evil, part of God's unfathomable plan?_

_"Not knowing what God wants from me," he clutched his hands together, "how can I proceed on the course I've taken? How do I know this is what He wants or if I've disappointed him as Satan did?"_

_"Satan didn't disappoint God." The hand, donned in red satin, sat elegantly against the lattice. He couldn't make out Cesare's face with the dim lighting, only the gleam of the whites of his eyes and a vague outline of his face. His head dipped forward almost as if in prayer and his dark hair touched one of his jeweled fingers._

_"How didn't he?"_

_"As long as you seek God's forgiveness you can never offend or disappoint him, not the way you can people. God is omnibenevolent, is he not? You must be repentant and I believe, even Satan as evil as he is, truly longed for God's love too. He merely believed himself beyond redemption."_

_Michelotto sat in the quiet again and in the quiet he stumbled onto an epiphany. Was Cesare, known for his ruthless cruelty, murdering, and amorality, a man who worked tirelessly for ambition and family, really Lucifer who yearned for love? That night Michelotto realized what kind of man Cesare Borgia really was too._

Michelotto, aware of the quiet in Cesare's chamber, listened to it contentedly. In the quiet before his murders, in the quiet between Cesare's words, in the quiet night as he sulked foes and spied on allies, Michelotto heard God's plan for the Borgia family and rejoiced that he was to be part of it. Was this mercy of Cesare's not a way to redeem himself to Rodrigo as Satan would have before God?

* * *

I read somewhere, I believe it was the Borgia fan wiki's historical profiles, that Michelotto was a surprisingly religious person and that he sought employment with the Borgias because Rodrigo was Pope. In case anything wasn't clear, Cesare doesn't seek forgiveness from God for killing, lol, I imagine he enjoyed it, but I like to think he did want Rodrigo's love, which is what I was going for here. I mean Cesare only freed Benito to get Rodrigo to acknowledge his superiority over Juan, didn't work, but whatever. Cesare at this time still wants Rodrigo's love but would have settled for his acknowledgement if that was all he could get.


	18. Chapter 18: R is for Return

Cesare crossed his arms, watching Jofre with Sancia. He hung on her ever words as usual and she sparkled with a radiance that never seem to dim. She was a good actress, but there was something much darker in her gaze, a rigidity to her shoulders and pose which had not been so evident before her brother's death. Her return had hampered Cesare's mood.

He was the only man in the room she avoided, even when Jofre, so loyal to his Borgia blood, pleaded with her to speak with him. Jofre meant well, but he was naïve and though he'd suffered through the manipulation of enemies, of the barbarous foreigner insults, and the Papacy's corruption he still somehow despite everything remained unaffected. Perhaps because he had never been an important pawn? Lucrezia had changed, though he couldn't say if he preferred her new demeanor entirely, there were still times he longed for her old innocence …but Jofre…he never seemed to grow up from that little boy who coddled his toys and clung to Vannozza's arm. He frowned; perhaps it was for the best that at least one Borgia should remain clean in this filthy Rome of theirs.

Sancia left the room with a man on her arm and he followed. He gave Michelotto a long look, which the assassin interrupted rightly and approached Sancia and her newest admirer. He grabbed the man and steered him back to the fete as Cesare caught up to the seething Neapolitan.

"What Borgia!" Once she would have played coy and called him by name, that amusing flirtation had passed away years ago, no doubt in part because of Alfonso's murder at his hand.

"Sancia," he replied, deftly grabbing her arm before she could storm off.

"What do you want?"

"I want to advise you, sweet sister-in-law," he seldom used sugary words in conversation with Sancia so the caution in her eyes was justified.

"About?"

"Your return."

"Ah," she slipped free of his touch and turned to face him. "What does my dear murdering brother-in-law wish to impart? More slimy deception?"

"Advice."

"Borgia advice is more often deceit."

"You misjudge me, Sancia."

"I do not."

"Should I tell you what would be prudent for you now that your brother is no longer of this world?"

Here she spat at him, "Do not speak of Alfonso for his soul was saintly and yours satanic!"

"Indeed. Convince Lucrezia to marry d'Este and my father may yet be merciful."

"Go to Hell!"

"I very well might, but not yet. Do this thing and Alexander might spare you."

"Spare me of what? You've already dealt me the greatest blow by murdering Alfonso! What more could you do?"

"Castle Sant'Angelo," Cesare smiled as Sancia, stalwart in the face of Michelotto as he came for Alfonso and openly cursing him and the Pope ever since Alfonso's death, suddenly lost her courage and ran from him down the hall. Sancia would return and give a different answer he was sure.


End file.
